It's Really Not A Big Deal
by weregrrl
Summary: After losing her best friend to the Dark Lord, Hermione is sent to the past to change Voldemort's fate. But, can a teenage witch really be ready for that kind of responsibility? And will he even like her? Rated for...slight tourettes of the vernacular kind.


**A/N: So, here's another 40 minute story. I quite like this one, actually. I think the idea is cute. :D**

**Enjoy!**

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**It's Really Not A Big Deal**

Hermione stood rooted to the spot, shivering in her new tweed suit. It made her look older than she was, which usually helped to boost her confidence. Not this time. She had a very special mission to complete, and she knew she couldn't fuck it up. Not like she had last time. Dumbledore had entrusted this one task to her, even after her brutal failure of guiding Harry away from the Dark he had begun to crave so badly. She had failed miserably. Now he was just a pawn to the snake-faced Dark Lord.

_Is a pawn? Was going to become a pawn at some point? _Hermione pondered, mostly to distract herself from her rapidly increasing heartbeat. She couldn't figure it out. Her brain was too wired to function properly, and she found it flinging ideas around inside of her skull without any real direction.

_Calm!_ She ordered herself. She really _could not_ fuck this up. She was already breaking at least five hundred school rules, Ministry Law, and frankly, she felt about ready to shit herself. There was absolutely no way she was backing out now.

_As if I could_, she thought wryly, although she did notice that even her internal pit of sarcasm seemed frightened.

"_Fuck!_" she muttered, taking a few shaky steps towards the dilapidated building that stood, weary and forbidding, over her. Soon regaining control of her posture and gait, the girl – no, the young _woman_ – put on an air of confidence, trotting across the roughly-laid cobblestone to the building's door.

Rapping one knuckle against the dirty wood, she waited, heels together, head held high; the epitome of class and confidence, although inside, her body was screaming. She fought the sudden urge to puke. She shouldn't have to do this; she was only seventeen for Christ's sake!

But before she could turn her plaited head, and run for the hills, the door creaked open. Hermione noted that it sounded ominously like the type of sound effect you heard in horror movies. Hermione _despised_ horror movies. Life was hard enough without searching out fictional monsters, and murderous shadows around each corner.

_Calm!_ She repeated to herself, frustrated. Now was _not_ the time to be thinking about _The Omen_. Actually, it was probably the worst time possible to think about Hoodoo, Voodoo, hell-hounds, or children-psychopaths in general, _ever_!

"Hello?" a creaky little voice sounded from behind the chain-linked door-frame.

_To match the creaky little hinges_, Hermione supposed, in a brief bout of humour. This situation was so surreal.

Putting on her best smile, and making sure it reached her eyes, Hermione peered into the room beyond the crack in the door. It was too dark to see much, but what she saw was _bloody terrible_.

_They could use some new wallpaper_, she thought distractedly.

"Hello. My name is Hermione Granger. I'd like to adopt?" she replied cheerily, staving off the urge to laugh like maniac.

The door opened at once.

"Come in," the same creaky voice responded, now attached to a rather dour looking woman. She was little and creaky too – she had to be at least seventy. She also stank of cheap perfume, and over-brewed coffee, not that Hermione was one to judge; she was about to become a teenage mother, after all.

_I feel like the bloody Virgin Mary,_ she noted angrily, _if Mary was a witch, and raised Satan's spawn..._

The little woman led the increasingly twitchy witch into a cramped room with multiple lines running through the plastered ceiling; one particularly violent crack residing straight above her head. Hermione eyed it suspiciously. She'd witnessed weirder deaths in her time – glorified curtain being the most prominent in her mind – and she didn't particularly fancy getting herself murdered by a ceiling.

_That would definitely be fucking up_, she decided.

The little woman sat in a creaky chair that matched the atmosphere up until now perfectly, and eyed the young witch up, clearly appraising her worth as a potential mother. Hermione may have been imagining it, but she didn't appear to look particularly impressed by what she saw.

_You borrow one old outfit from Minerva, and suddenly you're a street tramp,_ she huffed.

"I'm afraid I am obliged to ask you some questions Mrs...?" the woman trailed off.

"Granger," Hermione repeated firmly, trying not to lose her cool.

"Mrs Granger," the woman rasped, "I assume that you _are_ a married woman, are you not?"

_You only inferred that two second ago_, Hermione thought bitingly, but merely smiled again.

"Yes, of course. Mr Granger is so busy these days, with work and what-not, he asked me to come by myself. You know how these men are!" she laughed.

From the expression on the woman's face, it was clear that she did not know how men were, and wanted to get down to business.

"I'll have to ask you to sign some paperwork, Mrs Granger," she continued, rustling around in a creaky drawer.

_This place needs some serious oiling up_, Hermione snarked internally. It was really starting to get her down.

"I'll also need proof of citizenship of both you, and your husband," she completed, handing Hermione a dusty form.

_What is this place, Hell's Orphanage?_ Hermione pondered, repressing a sneeze, eyes scanning the document briefly.

_Yeah, Hell's Orphanage - Please Don't Adopt Here If You Value Your Sanity!_ She imagined the slogan, as she hastily scribbled her signature at the bottom of the page.

_I hate my life so much_.

The witch pushed the document back towards the grumpy old woman, before hastily searching her purse for two forged birth certificates, and a marriage certificate that claimed she was hitched to some man called Herbert.

_Stupid name, Herbert_, she thought, also handing the creased documents over to Ms. Orphanage Lady.

"I think you'll find everything to be in order," she stated with fake cheer, giving up on any smiling that reached her eyes. What was the point? The old bat showed clear disdain for her.

After a moment of silence, where the woman scanned the three documents with a scrutinising eye, and Hermione imagined flipping her off, just to see the reaction, the old lady nodded.

"Yes, I believe that your husband and you are acceptable candidates for adoption. Follow me please," she stated, handing back the pieces of paper. Hermione seriously considered burning two out of three later – honestly, _Herbert_! And _acceptable_ candidates?

_Herb and I are_ magnificent _candidates!_ She thought, momentarily forgetting that her fictional husband with the stupid name was just that – fictional.

The young witch had little time to feel indignant after that; as soon as they started ascending the stairs to what was presumably the children's rooms, that flicker of nervousness returned. What if she couldn't do this properly? What if she -

"Were you after a girl or a boy?" the woman quizzed, "I forgot to ask earlier."

Hermione realised with shock that they were now standing in a narrow hallway, with one door to the left, and one on the right.

"Uh-um, a boy," she stuttered, feeling slightly detached from her body. The woman held out her arm to the left.

"That's the boys' quarters. Look around a bit, and then come tell me if you've found what you're looking for," the lady said, before disappearing back down the steps.

_What is this? Debenhams?_

Hermione was more than a little outraged, but turned the coppery handle, regardless. The sight that immediately greeted her was more than a little disturbing.

In the back of the decidedly dingy room, a group of boys were beating a smaller boy, on the floor.

_Wow, they're really laying into him_, she thought, before remembering that she should probably help the little sucker out.

"Hey!" she shouted, marching over to the group, "And just what the fuck do you think you're all doing?"

The boys all stared at her, wide-eyed, until she realised her slip.

_Oops..._

To compensate, Hermione put her hands to her hips, and said sagely, "You shouldn't hurt anyone like that. Think you're going to get adopted by acting like little terrors?"

"But, he's a freak!" one of the boys exclaimed. Hermione shot him a sharp glare.

"_Nobody_," she emphasized, "is a freak. That's a horrid thing to say. Now shoo!" she flapped her hands at the band of bullies, deciding her search could wait a little longer, and they scattered.

"Bloody boys," she sighed, kneeling next to the small form still huddled up in a ball on the ground.

"Hey," she said gently, reaching out a hand to brush the boy's dark hair. This caused him to shoot up in a panic, pupils dilated, and, unfortunately, sporting a dark bruise. Hermione held up her hands.

"Don't worry, sweetie," she said softly, "I'm here to help."

The boy looked at her, but still didn't seem to register what was going on. His chest was pumping up and down so fast, she was actually worried he might be having a stroke.

_I've got to calm him down somehow,_ she realised, _He's in a state of shock._

Hermione decided to start small.

"Hey," she said again, "My name's Hermione. What's your's?"

After a moment of silence, the witch decided to try another route.

"So...why were those other boys hurting you?" she inquired, legs now crossed on the floor. The boy finally seemed to acknowledge her presence.

"They think I'm a monster," he mumbled quietly.

"So I heard. Why?" she continued, careful not to upset him again.

The boy looked at the floor.

"I don't know," he replied.

_Poor kid..._

"Here, now," Hermione smiled, "You don't have to be so upset!"

The boy raised his head, revealing a split lip.

"I don't?"

Hermione shook her head.

"Nope," she replied, tweaking the boy's nose, "because I'm here to cheer you up!"

The child flinched at the contact, but did nothing else to stop her. Hermione sighed. He was eyeing her warily.

"So," she soldiered on, "How old are you?"

"Are you here to adopt someone?" the boy asked, completely ignoring her question. Hermione blinked.

_Nice dodge, there._

"Yes," she replied, smiling. She was not prepared for his next statement.

"Don't adopt me. I'm weird," he said, staring her straight in the eyes, unblinking. The witch frowned.

"Why would you say that?" she inquired gently.

"That's what everyone else says," he replied, as if it were just simple common sense.

"You really shouldn't listen to what others say about you," she chastised, "Bullies like to make you believe that you're something you're not."

The boy continued to stare at her. If she was honest with herself, it was a bit unnerving.

"But...I am weird," he said, "I do weird things."

_I do weird things too; time travel, pretend I'm twenty-one and married, visit creepy orphanages in search of little sociopaths to take home..._

Hermione had the good sense not to utter those thoughts out loud, but instead said, "I bet they're not really that weird."

"I set Miss Pym on fire," the boy said. Hermione assumed Miss Pym was the grouchy lady downstairs, and briefly imagined the hilarity that would have been...

She stiffled giggle.

"With my mind," he finished confidently, obviously sensing her opinion of the elderly woman. Hermione's eyes widened, and she began truly looking at the boy before her.

_Dark hair; check. Green eyes; well, more like hazel, but check. Slightly creepy aura; check._

"You don't like snakes do you?" she asked.

"I talk to them."

_Oh, you have got to be shitting me... _

Hermione was most unimpressed at the Universe in that moment.

_Could have given me some warning, yeah?_ She raised her eyes upwards, _You know? An evil alarm-bell, or something? _

Hermione composed herself enough to smile.

"So," she asked, "What's your name, sweetie?"

"Tom."

Complete deadpan.

_A corpse could give this kid lessons in emoting..._

"And how old are you?' she asked again.

"Five."

_Oh, for fu-! The Dark Lord's a friggin' toddler...almost. Still, he's cute, for a future evil emperor._

"Well, Tom," she said, "I think I_ am_ going to take you home with me, and on the way, we're going to have a _very _long talk about how special you are."

The boy looked dubious.

"But, I set Miss Pym on fire," he repeated. Hermione leaned in close enough to whisper.

"And I set Mr. Snape on fire," she admitted, "It's really not such a big deal."

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**A/N: Am I ever in the mood to write lately! Ah...for those who follow Hogwarts: A Mystery, there's some info about why it's not being updated ATM. I'm finding it way too hard to edit without having it printed out, but Windows 8 doesn't support my printer (**_like it has ink in it, anyway_**). More info about that in my profile. I should be back and writing soon. **

**Hope you enjoyed Hermione as a teenage mum! XD**

**Love,**

**Lucy~!**

P.S. Anyone else ever get the urge to say, "To boldly go where no man has gone before!" every time they **bold** something? Because I do.


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